the minutiae of migraines

had a weekend overnighter with the zombitch. i watched quentin tarantino cowboy up and the dude from casshern deflect bullets with a katana (hey, that was my idea, too, sensei!) in sukiyaki western django; she watched jang geum accomplish acts of anger against oh-dae su in sympathy for lady vengeance. she delegated three-fourths of bedspace to herself without my permission and i surrendered after fruitless negotiations with her snoring carcass. the next day, we woke up to a battle of guitar hero on my ps2, which i won of course, then left for lipa to meet up with a man who goes by the name obi (but still randell parcon to me). traversing the brand spankin new star tollway extension, we happened upon an "accident". she was taking pictures of us while i drove and i faked having lost control of the wheel. a series of shots to depict a make-believe car crash immediately followed. don't click here for the full "report". click here instead.

picked randell up from the side of the road and we hung out in sm city lipa. the pussycat dolls knockoffs were scheduled to perform later in the day so randell and i agreed to check em out and sport boners. the flightless harpy went home and us boys bounced over to robinsons to rebuild a triangle with teta. kristine a.k.a. teta was my mother-in-pretense back in high school. she's a real mom now and is happily married. she spilled all sorts of jellybeans on us, updating us on the goings-on regarding our batchmates. who married who, who's still single (like us), who died, who became successful, who suffered a bitter fate. after a quick pizza munch, we dropped teta off at her house and broke the speed limit to see the kitty girls shake their asses while holding phallic mics (the kitty kitty girls song with the k-i-t-t-y shit was that day's lss). but goddarn it we missed the performance and only caught a glimpse of jocelyn oxlade sucking a straw while they left the building. disappointed that he didnt get to flash his at the kitty girls, randell contacted our next date: wendy, my first ex-girlfriend.

in a cafe at robinson's sideskirts, wendy came with a guy whose name i forgot. she is engaged but not to this guy. anyways, talked about stuff that our conversation with teta didnt cover, with regular interruptions of my past with wendy. she repeatedly coaxed me to explain why i left her with nary a whimper of why. i refused to discuss the topic in front of uninvolved people. looking back, my reason was pretty stupid. but i was a boy, an innocent idealistic idiot in interrelationship issues. i cant even get my brain around how i courted her considering the fact that i was a complete wuss at that time. hmm, i surmise that i have some good luck with ensnaring girls but am ill-fortuned with keeping them. may i cross paths with my original half soon so i wouldn't have to play the abandoner anymore.

another pointless post, i know. i had some words lying around in my head unused so i cleaned up a bit to make room for new ones. thanks for enduring the pain.

p.s. i lugged around a friggin headache yesterday. and a shit-geyser the day before that.
p.p.s. iron man cometh!
p.p.p.s. kinda boring without a pic so...

blasphemous tumors

i just received this text message, which the sender, im sure, believes is pro-religion. to me, however, it is proof of the bullshit that the religious use to defend their beliefs. here it is verbatim:

a man thnkin 2 hav sum fun w/ a kid sed
"tel me wer GOD is & il giv u an apple"
d boy quickly rplied,
"il give u barrels of apples if u tel me wer HE is not"Ü

#1. this is how religious morons respond whenever their faith is questioned, meaning they don't actually respond directly.
#2. the boy can't actually give barrels of apples, meaning religious people always tempt you with promises that are false.
#3. that darn "smiley" seems to imply that the boy outsmarted the older dude. (apologies for the following gross argument but it's necessary for the point) the man should have fucked the boy's ass and said, "god, surely aint inside your ass right now, boy. where's my barrels of apples? let's see you carry them all at once, bitch!"

what? no thunder or lightning?

TAXI DRIVER by angel

Don “Skizzo Four-Eyes” Corleone introduced me to this blog to make a review about Old Boy but I don’t know how to construct the right words in that sick, mind-blowing, wickedly vengeful film. I need to mellow out from the old ultra-violence for my insomnia attack.

I think I am supposed to be sleeping at this time. But to be honest, I can’t really sleep, I’ve been insomniac for weeks now I don't know what it is I feel. I can't help but feel like some people don't care. I can't help but feel like I've put too much out, and now I can't get it back. I can't even visit memories anymore, because I can't regain the feelings I had. And because I can't figure out where to put my raging thoughts, I think more. And as I think more, I have more thoughts to place. So I keep piling them up, and I know that there's no cure for it.

The film “Taxi Driver” suddenly popped, since it’s my favorite Mr. Sandman-bring-me-a-dream flick, I thought I could give Mr. Four-Eyes Corleone’s invitation to be part of his movie mafia. My apologies for my incoherently erroneous construction of sentences and swearing my dear brothers and sisters so here it goes…

Taxi Driver was portrayed by Robert De Niro as Travis Bickle, a young man that is trying to be an anti-hero in his fucking neighborhood or his so called city to be living in. He’s a lonely Vietnam vet insomniac wanderer who is trying to find meaning in his life by trying to assassinate a presidential candidate and by attempting to rescue a teenage prostitute from the mean streets of New York, and trying to free this burnt out hole using violence. I’m talking about insanity without the draw back, It’s about this lonely desperate man who can’t fucking sleep and giving all the best he could by trying to court a beautiful girl named “Betsy” played by Cybill Shepherd.

I’ve seen all types of film from gore to sick but this one gives me the creeps. By the time I reach the fucking climax of this fucking movie, it gives me this sort of a butterfly effect on me fucking stomach. But the one that really bugs me is the time that Travis took Betsy in a fucking movie theater, wherein they actually played a series of this fucking triple X movie in front of the servile scums.

By the time Travis went on in an extended shoot out in a fucking apartment building to rescue Iris was exciting as hell can get. This is the time were in all hell breaks loose. The fucking musical score was awesome. Scorsese tried to manipulate the viewers mind by projecting the movie through it’s astonishing soundtrack that portrays the gritty streets of New York. The strongest moments of this film occur during De Niro's disturbing "You talkin' to me?" monologue, the malicious beating of a robber's corpse by a victimized store owner and Iris's sexually frank business routine displayed during Travis' paid visit to her carnal abode which Harvey Keitel keeps himself satisfied and full. Brutal and insane director Martin Scorsese's homicidally impulsed husband is a racially vulgar gem that epitomizes the insanity of this film, as does Travis' punk hair-do which represents his further disintegration into deluded insanity. But throughout out the film, De Niro act as if he is too drunk to act or he is just acting as himself. I also think that he’s a real badass hottie but not in a flashy kind of way though, and brings the silly fan girl in me *drools*

Ironically and tragically, Travis' assassination attempt on the Presidential candidate in this film inspired the shooting of President Ronald Reagan in 1981. The shooting was done by John Hinckley, in an attempt to impress Jodie Foster. All-in-all, this movie was the near best masterpiece of a brilliant and awesome director Martin Scorsese, and wouldn’t be made without the blistering performance of Robert De Niro and the rest of the cast, especially Jodie Foster who perfectly personified this teenage bitch in a pristine, unadulterated act. That’s all folks, I hope you liked it.

The Verdict: 9 pillows, a blanket and a dose of Valium

pirated playboy

on why i proclaim that playboy philippines promotes piracy: in a nutsack, that much-hyped new men's magazine sucked boogers. every guy i know who shelled out 200 bucks to buy one felt ripped off. they were inveigled by the glistening promise of female nudity that had historically caused playboy pages getting stuck together, only to behold barely any bareness. it is only fair to expect it, it is playboy, of course. when i was a teenager, playboy was a magic word. it was a proof of manhood. if you had playboy, you were a warrior perv. you could walk up to a couple of geeks talking about female buttshots in comics and whisper, "oh, yeah? i have playboy." and you got em worshiping your footsteps, wanting to borrow it.

now, the filipinized version has hit our shores, the dudes behind it running out of superlatives to boast it to the public. yes, they admitted that playboy philippines will not have naked chicks with peeking vaginas, only because of our country's conservative upbringing and tight religious grasp. so, why the heck did they even bother franchising it in the first place? easy answer: money. take a world renowned brand, strip away its essence, market it to the none-the-wiser and await the cash tsunami. they must have thought the playboy name could effortlessly squish the current mags to bits. sure, it can. it's playboy for garth's sakes. however, they bastardized hef's legacy the moment they stamped it with our country's name. a poor-quality playboy with zero nudity for double the price of the other mag? no thanks.

notice how every time a local singer has a new album out, they always say "buy the original, don't buy pirated cd's"? well, playboy philippines is saying the opposite: "this playboy is a knockoff of the original. you might see one nipple, but that's it. it's kind of like buying a pirated dvd where the title is not the same as what's inside." i haven't read it and i dont plan on purchasing a copy. they got me at "metal tray taking up a third of cover space".

p.s. shit i can't believe i wasted three paragraphs on playboy philippines.

for tomorrow

PLAYBOY PHILIPPINES PROMOTES PIRACY

heads up

this post was supposed to be something else (which still has no connection with the hottie pic of my imaginary girlfriend but who needs a reason, right?) but something came up and before im forced to make any more boner puns, i'll give it to you straight and hard (can't help it).

uno april is out! meaning, i'm a published writer now! woohoo! [happy dance] [confetti] [fireworks] [race winner spraying champagne] [a girl kicking a guy's nuts] grab a copy now, folks, before they run out again like the march issue! it has sexy pictures of sarah christophers as well but who gives a chimp's anus? it's got my debut-as-a-published-writer articles in it! so, go to the nearest reading materials store right now, point to the sky, tell the clerk "hey, what's that?" and pilfer the mag while they're not looking, (i hope no one's got enough stupid in their noggin to actually do what i just said) then run home and read it and tell me what you think. please?

aahhhhh. i'm done, babe. go ahead and smokey smoke.


p.s. it just keeps getting better. photoshoot!!!

NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN by jaiskizzy

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